The Place For My Writers Notes

Original Posting 27 Dec 2010

Hum...

Over here http://www.sfnovelists.com/2010/12/23/you-cant-teach-passion/, David B. Coe blogged about "You Can't Teach Passion." And...

For some reason, the title, "You Can't Teach Passion," kind of itched whenever I saw it. So I've been thinking about why that feels like fingernails on a blackboard to me.

I think I can probably agree with David that we can't teach passion, if we're talking about teaching as "sage on the stage" lecture presentations designed to fill time with the teacher talking and the students scribbling, sleeping, or staring into space, but probably not really engaged. Unfortunately, too many of us have learned to define teaching and learning in those terms.

On the other hand, that kind of teaching often does a very good job of eliminating passion. Even someone who has a dream, a vision, a fire burning often finds that kind of teaching acting as a tremendously effective dream quencher, blackout curtain, and fire extinguisher. Take a kid who's lively, outgoing, interested in the world around them, set them down in a orderly classroom with good teaching discipline, and pretty soon you're likely to have a quiet drone.

But, despite the excellent methods of eliminating passion that we have developed (documented at length as killer phrases in What a Great Idea! 2.0 by Chic Thompson -- that's nonsense, that's irrelevant, that's unproven, that's dangerous, that's not salable, etc. etc. etc. all of which say "No" to passion), we've also got some ways to encourage passion. See Michalko's Thinkertoys, Roger van Oech's A Whack on the Back of the Head and A Kick In the Seat of the Pants, or Edward de Bono's various books, among others. Ways to take that little flicker of interest and excitement, to blow gently on it and provide tinder to help it grow into a raging flame. To give passion creative outlets and let the dream become reality.

You can't teach passion. But you can quench it, so easily. And, on the gripping hand, you can encourage passion. Heck, you might even find a teacher cheering you on. And that's real learning.

(Who is still trying to figure out why the notion that some people don't have "the passion" or "the inspiration" or whatever it is makes me queasy. What do you think?)

Original Posting 25 February 2009

Getting the Pace Right

Writer's Digest, March 2006, The Writing Clinic by Paul Bagdon on pages 52 to 55, discusses how using pacing and a simple structure produces "Exquisite Dread." It's looking at a prologue, "a resoundingly splendid piece of work -- so strong and evocative, in fact, that it's a positive example of the principles of effective fiction writing. Beck has done almost everything right in her pages, and her first paragraph constitutes an essentially flawless opening for a novel or a short story."

Now that's a high recommendation. So what's the first paragraph look like? Glad you asked:

"Margaret Costello prepared Abby's after-school snack before she hanged herself in the garage. She sliced the cheddar into perfect squares and arranged them on a plate, alternating crackers and cheese in two straight lines. She readied a meatloaf, then placed the heating instructions next to the cheese plate on the kitchen table and walked through the house one last time."

The commentary has three points.

1. Open with action. Opening paragraphs need to create drama, and make it almost impossible for the reader to stop. There a lot of ways to do this, but "open with action" is a good recommendation. But what does action mean? The very first line of this paragraph provides action -- the very ordinary preparation of a snack juxtaposed with the revelation that the protagonist intends to kill herself. And then we continue with the snack.

From the first sentence, the reader knows what is going to happen to Margaret. So why do they keep reading? It's a combination of interest and empathy. "It's difficult to imagine a reader who wouldn't be compelled to continue reading after absorbing the opening paragraph -- which is precisely the effect a well-crafted opening is intended to have."

2. Pace yourself. How quickly the plot is developed and the characters are revealed is what really keeps the reader going. You can use flashbacks, changes in person and tense, changes in location, different narrators, and even straightforward simple chronological description. The key is keeping the pacing in mind. Is the plot dragging because of description? Is it racing too quickly, so that the reader doesn't have a chance to keep up? Are we flashing all over the place on non sequiturs? Don't bury a vivid plot in overused devices. Technique is at the service of telling the story, not the other way around.

3. Emotion or sensationalism? Sometimes writers use emotion to strengthen scenes that aren't quite as strong as it should be -- that's sensationalism. Be careful of going over the line. You want honest accurate emotions, not melodrama. This particular prologue is emotionally difficult. But it is also compelling and not overdone.

So when you're doing those beginnings, remember this example. Juxtapose a revealed action with the ordinary. Don't bury strong plot in writing devices. And portray honest emotions.

And write.

Original posting 18 Feb 2008

[Just an article in the flood of papers - but I thought I'd pass along the central notion to y'all. Hope you enjoy it.]

Find The Passion by James Scott Bell in Writer's Digest, November 2004, pages 24 to 27 talks about how to put emotional power into your writing. He suggests five steps:

1. Feeling authentic emotions
2. Playing with the possibilities those emotions create
3. Planning
4. Writing
5. Editing

So we start by finding the emotion. Pick the tone that you want, the emotional feeling, and then into your own emotional memories. Actors put themselves in the characters place and then imagine what they would be feeling. Remember when you felt the emotion. Remember what you saw, heard, smelled, touched, tasted -- what you felt! Other people use music to remind them of feelings. Get in touch with that emotion.

Next, we improvise. "In the theater of the mind, we learn to let scenes and characters play around; we keep things hopping in new and interesting ways just by giving our imaginations free reign." (p. 26) Take a character, and imagine them in a scene in your mind. What does the character do? How do they move, what are they wearing, how do they act and react? Where are they going and why? Now put in some opposition, another character, or a problem of some sort? Watch the scene unfold and feel the emotions, the struggle, the fight. Find the passion. Bell talks about the imaginary movie that we run in our own head.

Oh, and keep track of images or scenes that your imagination tosses up at odd times. I woke to the phrase "getting up on the wrong side of the Bard" today. I have no real idea what that phrase had to do with anything, but I wrote it in my journal and expect that sometime it may expand. Especially if you get images, take the time to write them down.

Third, we're going to plan the scenes. Analyze the results of the brainstorms and improvisation, and put it in working order. Remind yourself of the emotional tone that you want to achieve. Think about whether the scene you're working on will be mostly action or mostly reflection. Should the stakes be high or low? Are the characters working at the top of their game or are they recovering from a major scene? And make sure that the end of the scene makes the reader desperate to turn the page and keep reading. One hint: you don't have to resolve everything. Leave the reader wondering!

Fourth, write the first draft. Write your heart out. Many writers recommend writing the first draft passionately and quickly. Put the inner critic away and just let the words flow.

Fifth, finish the job. Clean up the draft. Cut out the big, stupid mistakes. You may be cutting entire sections, but that's okay. Then clean up the details. Refine the cliches, tighten up the wording, make those diamonds that you wrote sparkle.

"Great fiction is formed by heat. Feel your characters and plots intensely, write in the heat of passion, then cut judiciously." (p. 27)

When we write, we learn about ourselves.

Chapter 23: Your Protagonist's Emotional Thread

Wrapping up the last pieces of Make a Scene by Jordan Rosenfeld, this chapter looks at the transformation of the character really across the scenes. Most narratives include some growth or change in the character, which really adds meaning and depth. This emotional thread cuts across the individual scenes, and Rosenfeld has some comments about it.

First, of course, is the point that changes in personality -- in beliefs, attitudes, and so forth -- shouldn't be sudden or easy. People don't change without a struggle. To make it feel authentic, to give credibility to each scene, you need to make sure that the change is motivated, and probably somewhat gradual.

In the early scenes, we're establishing everything. Characters, conflicts, problems, etc. Right up front, you can include character-related plot threads:

• Involvement. How is the protagonist related to the significant situation? Is it his fault, centered on him somehow? Is he integral to it or does he stumble into it?
• Stakes. What does the protagonist gain or lose because of events?
• Desires. What does the protagonist want?
• Fears. What scares the protagonist?
• Motivation. Why does the protagonist do things?
• Challenges. How does the significant situation challenge the protagonist?

At the end of the early scenes, you as author can ask yourself if the protagonist is shaky enough? Are there enough problems and conflicts that readers will be worried? Is the protagonist directly involved in a significant situation? Does the protagonist seem to be struggling, trying to act, being forced to change? Is there enough uncertainty -- readers should be trying to figure out what will happen, not betting on a sure thing.

Scenes in the middle make the reader and the protagonists work. This is where the protagonist gets tested and stretched. These scenes need to include:

• opportunities for crisis and conflict. Makes things harder, more complicated, add problems on top of the problems.
• opportunities for dramatic and surprising changes. Given the pressures and complications, the protagonist can start acting differently, perhaps in anger, perhaps in achieving more than seemed possible.
• opportunities for plot complications. Things were bad before, now they're going to get horrible. New complications and new complexity.
• opportunities to test drive new behaviors. Emotional reactions can start to pop under the pressure and stress. The protagonist can surprise us.
• opportunities for dramatic tension. Put the protagonist in danger, emotional or physical, and build an aura of tension -- tighten the suspense.

Desperation, uncertainty, trials and tribulations. Some protagonists get worse before they get better. That's okay. This is the part where the character shows how they really behave when things get hot and tough. The protagonist learns who their real friends are and what their own strengths and weaknesses really are, all in preparation for the final scenes.

The final scenes are where all of the changes get wrapped up. This is where we show who is left after the climax -- who has the protagonist become? So you need to know:

• what are the consequences of having desires met?
• what are the consequences of having fears realized?
• did what the protagonist wants change? What is it now?
• did what the protagonist fears change?
• how does the protagonist view the significant situation now?

This is where you demonstrate character change. You need to show through action or dialogue what has changed. You also need to answer any plot questions that are left. Tie up the major consequences. In most cases, this includes showing:

• the protagonist has learned something
• the protagonist's attitudes and behavior have changed
• the protagonist has started a new journey or direction

"The key to successful character transformation is to let your character changes unfold dramatically but also realistically. Let the reader see your characters change by how they act and speak, and by the choices they make within the framework of scenes, not through narrative summaries."

That's what Rosenfeld says about the emotional threads in the plot.

What shall we add? Well, how about taking a look at a story or novel that you like, and consider the growth of the protagonist? Even in a thriller or action story, we're likely to find that the protagonist learns something, changes, faces up to their fears and beats them down, etc. So start at the beginning, and track that golden thread of the protagonist's emotional fabric, beliefs, etc. How is it set up in the beginning? What happens to it in the middle? And at the climax, how does the writer handle it? Normally there is a definite shift from the well-worn emotions at the beginning through tearing and holes in the middle into a restructuring and rebuilding at the end. Something like that, anyway. How does it work in the stories you like?

Then, turn around and consider a story or novel that you are working on. Do you show the readers the emotions, the beliefs and attitudes of your protagonist? In the beginning, do you let them know how the hero feels, and where the flaw is? What about in the middle? Do you keep that thread going? And in the climax and ending, do you show how the person has grown and changed? You don't have to spend pages in internal turmoil and debate, but make sure that the reader feels for the protagonist.

S'aright?

How about a third one? Okay, let's start with picking two numbers from one to 12. Two different numbers, okay? You may roll two pair of dice if you like. Got your numbers? Now find them in this list:

1.  sadness  2. distress  3.  relief  4.  joy
5.  hate  6. love 7.  fear  8. anticipation
9.  anger  10.  guilt  11.  gratitude  12. pride

What you have there is two emotions. Maybe sadness and guilt. And here's the exercise. Consider how you might show a reader that the protagonist feels sadness, right at the start of a story. And then consider how you might show a reader that they feel guilt -- at the end of a tale. And for bonus points, consider how sadness transforms into guilt. Now can you put that together into a story? From sadness over his parents' death to a lurking sense of guilt? Or . . .

Get those writing neurons crackling, and write.